


depression and disasters

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drugs, I Tried, I don't write good enough for this, M/M, More tags to be added, Mystery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 07:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17320688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's suspicious, but I'm interested.Maybe its because I hate myself, but something about this camp is calling my name, and damn do I want to figure out what it is, even if it means figuring out what this camp is all about and getting stuck saving everyone in the process like the badass I am.





	depression and disasters

“I’m not so much over the moon as I am barely dicking around in the Earth’s lower general atmosphere.”

The therapist looks at me with crystal cut eyes and a piercing gaze that makes me shudder. While I know she only means well, or perhaps she doesn't and she really is only doing this for the money like I suspected, her gaze gets to me more often than not. It's intimidating, and I find myself recoiling from it, wishing I could slip into the cracks of the worn leather loveseat that I currently sit on. “Explain what that means?” She asks in a voice that I'm sure is supposed to be reassuring and knowing like a mother, but cracks with confusion. Or, at least, that's what I think it is.

“Well,” I begin, looking off into the distance and picking at my nails. “I’m not happy, per say, but I don't want to die, either. It's an improvement though not one of great significance or anything.”

“It seems rather significant to me.” She speaks, looking at me with purple eyes that lack true emotion. “Your last session, you said that you were debating taking your life, remember?”

“Yes, and I remember you then placed me into meetings for suicidal people that I got nothing from.”

“Did you even go?”

I stiffen up at that, not expecting it, and she tsks. “You have to go to the meetings, Dirk, in order to get the help that you and I both agreed that you need.”

“They don't even help. I sit around and listen to other people's sob stories, and it's a waste of time that I don't have.”

“Are you saying you need a break?” She asks, tilting her head, “Perhaps a break would be good for you. I know of a great-”

“I definitely do not need a break, Ms. Lalonde.” I spit. Her eyes follow me as I stand and pace, my glare never once leaving her and my scowl just as persistent. “My job is the only thing that I have. It's the only thing that keeps me here alive and kicking.” I rant, hugging my arms around myself and reaching my right hand up to tug at my hair, bumping my shades just a bit in the process. I would never dare show such weakness to anyone else, but I know my secrets safe with her. She doesn't seem like the person to talk behind people's backs, plus, that'd be illegal, I'm pretty damn sure. “Without it, I’d off myself because I’d have no purpose, and a Strider without purpose is a Strider unneeded.”

She inhales sharply at that and finally lowers her gaze down to her clipboard which she is frantically writing on. “Your job would not leave you forever, and I’d make sure of that. You'd still have a purpose, and something to go back to once you're rested and ready to work to your full potential. A doctor’s note is such a powerful thing, Mr. Strider-”

I scowl at the mention of my last name used in a fancy, unneeded and surely ironic way. “It's Dirk. Titles like mr and ms and whatever are for assholes and rich dudes. And… a doctor's note wouldn’t be needed.” I wave my hand about lazily as I talk and release my hair from it’s firm hold. 

“Are you implying that I’m an asshole?” She asks with a smirk now. At least she can be playful at times.

“Are you going to say that you’re not?” I scoff, stopping in front of her then as she suppresses a laugh.

“Sessions are never boring with you, Dirk.” She speaks, ripping out a small piece of the paper from her notebook. “I think you should take a break. A seven day retreat, if you will. You could even call it vacation. It'll be very… rejuvenating, I think.”

I glare at the paper like it's a tendril from one of the shitty hentais I’ve come across from time to time. Hesitantly, I take the paper into my hand and skim over it. It seems to be a… camp? 

My eyes snap up to meet Ms. Lalondes, and I hope they can convey ‘what the actual fuck’ without me actually saying it. Shaking her head, she sighs. “Fresh air works wonders for mental health, Dirk. It'll be a nice retreat, I assure you. It's a no tech resort with people… in the same boat, as you, that you can meet and socialize with.”

“That sounds like hell.” Technology is literally my entire life. My friends that I barely talk to and this appointment were all made online. Plus, my job relies completely on the Internet since.. well. I don't have a real job, per say, not one that most people or the IRS considers one. I fix up things, like computers, and make them better so that I can sell them. Or, if something is past fixing, I take the parts and make something entirely new, like robots or machines for guys that are willing to pay high price for things that may be a little illegal, but, hey. That's none of my business. I make good money from building possibly illegal devices and keeping my mouth shut, but I guess… I could always take a few days vacation from it. I'd come back with a fully functioning brain, and maybe I'd even return a bit happier and rested, which would surely help production, right?

“Give it a try, Dirk, what's the harm? You can always leave early.”

“Could I?” I raise an eyebrow, doubtful of that. 

“You could. You're in a decent enough mental state or choose if you want to go or not, as well as if you want to stay once you get there.”

“Great.” I smirk, cockiness coming out as I tilt my head and cross my arms. The paper in my hand crumbles a bit, but it’s not like I care. Nope. No caring here because I definitely do not want to go. “I'm not going.”

“Dirk, please, at least consider it for your mental health.” She uncrosses her legs and places the clipboard down onto her desk. Then, with grace, she stands and straightens out her skirt all in one swift movement. Her heels tap on the ground as she comes closer, stopping right in front of me and looking into my eyes through my shades. “You have the paper.” She puts her soft hands on my rough ones and gently unfolds my arms. Then, she slowly unfolds the hand clutching the paper and smooths out the wrinkles in the paper after, making sure it’s readable still. “Consider it. Ponder over it tonight as well as the night after that, and then the third day will be your next afternoon appointment. I expect an answer by then.” She says sharply then, pulling her hand back and folding her own hands together in front of her skirt. “The bus will leave Saturday morning. So, giving me your answer Friday at two will allow you enough time to get ready for your stay, if you please. If not, no worries.”

I sigh, stepping back a bit from her. “Alright.” I say in a hushed tone of voice, folding the paper up gently as she watches and slipping it into my back pocket. “I’ll… think about it.”

“Wonderful. Friday at two, then, I'll be waiting with bated breath.” She walks to the door and opens it with a smirk, and I quickly leave while pathetically waving goodbye to her. As much of a help she can be, I'm extremely relieved that I no longer have to be confined to her area. I prefer to be constantly working or moving or thinking about difficult to solve equations or problems, and not doing such makes me incredibly anxious, so sitting on her old leather couch that squeaks every time anyone fucking moves is not what I would call a fun nor relaxing time, but at the same time, its oddly helpful to talk to her, and she doesn’t fuss when I need to stand around and pace.

I sigh and take out the paper from my back pocket once I hit the city sidewalk. Next, I read the few words on the paper as I begin to walk down the busy street. She didn’t give me anything about the place really but the name and the general idea, so I take out my phone and type CAMP SBURB into the search engine.

Sure enough, there’s a website for the camp on full display. It looks… way too good to be true. Way too good for a camp that was made for mental people, but I suppose that’s how they lure people in. They, rich assholes most likely, make the camp look all sweet, but then it turns out to be glorified slavery or some shit. These kind of establishments are known to have lots of secrets, and they're never as good as they say, but I find myself a bit interested in it regardless. Maybe it's because of my self hatred streak. I know it's gonna totally fucking suck, but I’m gonna join anyway. I do that shit way too much. Its like I live life waiting for a chance to punish myself for existing. Sure explains a lot. Man, I can't wait to tell Ms. Lalonde about this development. She'll be ecstatic.

I bookmark the website before exiting out of the tab and slipping my phone into my pocket. People walk around me, and I can't help but observe their behavior out of both boredom and curiosity. Some people are running, anxious to meet a destination that I don't know, while some people are taking their time and observing their surroundings. Honestly though, most people are either preoccupied with children or distracted by their phones. I spot my reflection in the window and sigh. No one looks like me. Lost and afraid.

I guess I probably don't look like that to anyone else, I observe as I fix my hair a bit, smoothing it down and back and huffing as it poofs up a bit. My mouth is pulled into a thin line, and I definitely seem emotionless, but my insides feel like a tornado. Looking at my reflection makes me feel sick, so I quickly look away. Maybe going to the camp would be good for me. It'd certainly take my mind off of things, even if it sucks, and besides, isn't that what I need? Something that sucks that I can fix, along with something to distract me from normal life?

I continue on walking, eventually reaching my apartment. It smells like a mix of b.o. and orange dreamsicle scentsy, and I wrinkle my nose up at it. Maybe I need some fresh air. There's only so much of my own filth I can take.

I make it to my “office” after dodging sword after precariously placed sword with little damage to anywhere but my nostrils. Then, once I'm inside, I take out the piece of paper and my phone and nearly collapse into my desk chair. Pushing aside unfinished robotics projects away from my work area, I set my phone back on the Rainbow Dash popsocket and pull up the bookmarked website. 

Once again, it looks way too good to be true. There's assloads of outdoor activities to choose from. Fishing, swimming, canoeing, sports, sports… fuck. There's a lot of athletic shit, which I'm not technically against, since I’m basically the coolest American katana master ever with high as Bob Marley ninja stats, but competitive sports that go more for teamwork than personal skill are pretty damn awful to me. I thrive at pretty much everything else though, and I'm extremely relieved when I see that there's also single person activities, like making music and crafts.

I sigh. So far, so good. Or more accurately, so far, so decent. I'm definitely pulled in, but I'm not completely sated. I fuck around on the site some more and see something very suspicious. 

It's free.

This shit, with all its activities and fuck, there's even a cafeteria too with meals and snacks included, is free? and with no exceptions?

That's all kinds of suspicious. There has to be a catch that they're not listing, otherwise, how could they afford to keep this camp up? Government funding, perhaps? 

I look around some more. This camp doesn't even give out medication. It says the activities and fresh country air are the medication. Would the government pay for so much for a seven day program that doesn't guarantee any results? I seriously doubt that, so yes, there  
must be something at work here. 

I lean back on my chair dramatically and look at my ceiling. Something inside me is telling me that I should go, even though the place looks sketchy. Maybe I could figure out what's so sketchy about it when I get there. That could be my escape and distraction from my current life. 

I spend the next day thinking more about the place and stewing in my own self hatred, and then at Friday at exactly 2, I walk into Ms. Lalondes office with swagger in my steps and a smirk on my face.

She's wearing a smirk of her own as she looks at me from where she is currently sitting on her desk in a most unprofessional manner. “So?” She grins a bit, tilting her head and crossing her legs. Her eyes have a glint of something that I cannot place, but it feels… wrong, with the way she is looking at me. “Are you going to Camp Sburb?”

I tilt my head slightly up at her, push up my shades in a super cool way, and say with confidence. “Hell. Fucking. Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this is my first series and technically my first work on here (since I deleted my other one because I hated it)!  
> I hope everyone likes it. I think its a good idea, but I wish it had a better author because I don't know how to write and will never be as good as anyone on here!  
> But anyway  
> Please leave kudos and especially comments! Telling me things that could be better or things that you liked is really helpful and keeps me from deleting this work!


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